When It's All Said And Done
by Jamaican Princess Rocquellan
Summary: Sam's been sleeping with his brother and his father behind their backs. When he gets pregnant and doesn't know who the father is or how his brother and father will react to the news, he tries to hide it as best as he can. Sam/Dean, Sam/John, Sam/Dean/John. Angst, mpreg. More warnings inside.


**I still consider myself a sam/dean noob, so my expectations for my own fic isn't terribly high. Reviews on my attempt would be appreciated, thanks!**

**Content/warning: Mpreg, underage, double penetration.**

"You're a perfect specimen," the woman crowed, eyes shining with delight.

If Sam had a nickel for every time a monster thought he was perfect for something, Bill Gate's would be getting a run for his money...

35 years old Mary-Lee Welch was an African American secretary from Washington DC, who had somehow become possessed by a fertility god. Over the years, five infertile women would all give birth on the same day at the exact same time in random cities. Only, one of the mother and child duo always died in childbirth. It took a while to find the pattern, but Mary-Lee was a common denominator, because she hadn't aged a day since 1951, which was as far back as all of this could be traced.

Sam bared his teeth in a snarl, trying to breath through the choke-hold she had him in on the floor of her living room. Before, he was left in the car as usual, panicking with each passing second without sight of his family. He disobeyed his dad's order and entered the house. He just knew his family was in trouble, could feel the anxiety like a phantom limb.

"Now, don't move..." She grinned cheekily, hand tightening around Sam's throat, squeezing his trachea while he clawed and fought. "I have something special in mind for you, boy of the sun."

A small part of Sam's oxygen deprived brain wondered at the nickname, but she started chanting softly under her breath with closed eyes and Sam felt his middle start to burn something fierce, like his insides were being flipped and switched. One of her hands abandoned his neck to grip at his abnormally painful stomach and he cried out, rolling into a ball as the torture lanced through his body.

_"Quae data est mihi secundum operationem, ut dicitur in potentia Min ritum Dei Filius, Deus subjugare vitae fertilitatem ...AAHH!"_

The woman screamed and Sam opened blearily eyes to see his father standing over them after her body toppled sideways, stake dripping with blood clenched tightly in one hand. His eyes were hard and unforgiving.

"Sammy?!" It was Dean's panicked voice.

...

A month later...

"You want to puke again?"

Sam looked up at Dean in the passenger side of the impala from his sprawl in the backseat, where the evidence of his sudden bout with some type of stomach ailment was present. His stomach rumbled like thunder inside him.

He could feel his dad's eyes through the rearview mirror while Dean's worrying gaze looked him over.

"No, not yet, I just feel a little queasy," Sam answered, hugging his middle and willing the nausea down. He's been puking his guts out since yesterday and both his dad and his brother have been worried about him, but he's managed to convince them -for now- that he would be fine soon. He wanted to jump into both their arms, curl up and sleep like a baby. Except he couldn't.

"Want another dose of Meclizine?" his dad asked and Sam shook his head, hating the feel of his wet bangs stuck to his forehead. The medicine didn't help him last time. As a matter of fact, if anything, he felt a bit worse. He blew out a breath as he leaned his head against the car glass, loving the feel of the coolness against his hot skin.

It sucked to be sick.

"Maybe we should find a motel dad, he might need some proper rest to help work whatever bug he's got out of his system," Dean suggested, voice tint with worry. Sam could imagine his brother fretting that he developed some terminal illness or something. But he liked the suggestion and he was glad his father agreed.

"Yeah, son. I'll find a motel."

...

The Starfish motel outside of a small neighborhood on the east side of Nebraska was where John had decided to stop. He hated seeing any of his kids sick and even though Dean's just 18 and Sam 14, he was used to Dean being the one with diarrhea and gastroenteritis since his oldest ate like a bottomless slob half the time.

"Hey, let me carry that," Dean griped when his brother reached for one of the duffels in the back of the car, none of them commenting on how their fingers ghosted over each other's lightly.

Sam had always got a thing for his brother's talented hands.

"I'm sick, not limp, jerk." Sam huffed, pulling his hand back because dad was close and he walked up to the door where his father left it open for them to get inside.

Dean shook his head and fondly muttered 'bitch' under his breath before shouldering two duffels and a small travel bag, a small smile on his lips.

When his kids got in, John and Dean laid out the salt lines by the windows and doors and then did the protection symbols on the walls.

Dean couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was, but something about Sam's appearance had changed.

"Alright, pipsqueak, get your ass in bed," Dean said, washing his hands of salt residue before turning to look at his little brother from the kitchenette sink, who looked like the frailest thing, hunched over and tired. It was a two bedroom motel so Dean had to share with Sam as usual. Not that he minded one bit.

Sam walked over and took a seat in the old, but clean, couch in the living room. "'M not sleepy..." a yawn, "...or tired, Dean."

Dean snorted, big brother swagger in his demeanor. "Yeah right. Look, get your ass in bed or I'll put you there."

Sam glared up at his brother.

"Alright, look you two..." John's voice boomed as he exited his room, rolling up his shirt sleeves after ditching his replacement leather jacket -because Dean got the original one for his 18th birthday. "I'm gonna make my famous, cure all, kitchen sink stew. How that sound, Sammy?"

Sam hugged the couch cushion tighter before pulling his knees to his chest. That did NOT sound like a good idea. The thought of all that pepper made his nausea flare in his stomach.

"Alright dad, I'm starving," Dean whooped before plopping down in the couch next to Sam and grabbing the remote.

Sam watched as his father came over to him first, checked his temperature with the back of his hand on his forehead and neck and he shivered at the touch. Another pair of hands he got off on whenever possible, though different from Dean's, knew exactly how to touch him.

"Alright kiddo, go get a shower then wait in bed and the stew will be ready before you know it," John ordered after pulling back and looking down on Sam. He felt slightly warmer than usual.

"Ok, dad."

Dean eyed Sam while he stood and headed towards the bedroom, a nest of worry like bugs in his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling, but his little brother worry alert was being set off for some reason. He hoped he was wrong.

"Dean."

Dean snapped to attention at his father's commanding voice. "Yes sir."

"We passed a laundromat down the block. The brown duffel has the dirty clothes. Get them taken care of and pick up some fever medicine at the pharmacy closeby for Sam, alright?"

"Yes sir," Dean answered before standing. His father handed him a few bills and coins and he took them before grabbing the duffel and heading out. It would be at least an hour or two before he was back.

...

Sam was in the shower when the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing sounded in the room. He bit his bottom lip, wanting to call out but refrained. What if he called the wrong name and things got out of hand, secrets revealed? Dad didn't know he was fooling around with Dean and Dean didn't know he was sleeping with dad. God, he loved them both so much and he wanted them at the same time most times but he was afraid of what they might think.

Not of him, but of each other.

His dad was unpredictable, and so was Dean in his own way. There might be no way to tell how they'd both take it.

"Sam..."

"Dad?"

Sam shut the water off and the curtain was pulled away. He stood there naked and wet, hair plastered to his forehead and his dad just stood there, boner evident and a look of complicated lust in his eyes. His dad had reservations about touching him, but his dick couldn't stay away from how tight and hot and greedy for it his ass was. He didn't mind. His father was getting more used to the idea, he could tell.

The first time it happened with dad the man had been drunk. The first time it happened with Dean he'd been drunk too. And high on adrenaline after a hunt. The second time they were so drunk they each couldn't see straight. By the third time it had become like an unspoken rule filled to the brim with denial, angst and avoidance. They loved to take him without wanting to admit it. With so many secrets being shared between them, Sam had managed to keep each of them on the down low.

He had the best of both worlds.

"Sam...

Sam brought his hand down and palmed at his father's erect cock. If he didn't take the reigns, his father would have just stood there without moving or saying anything. It's how the man worked, needing a hefty push when it came to his emotions. Dean was only a little bit more liberal. And by little bit he meant hardly.

"Don't worry dad, I'll take good care of you," Sam breathed while he unzipped his father's pants and freed his length. It was hot and heavy in his hand, musk permeating his nostrils and his mouth watered. He looked into his father's eyes and the man's features softened before he brought a hand up to run his fingers softly down his cheek. Sam smiled, a genuine smile and it seemed to thaw some of the fear and anxiety in his father's heart.

"I'll be the one to take care of you, Sammy. Don't you worry."

His father took him right there in the shower stall, bend over the porcelain with his ass sticking out for more.

...

Dean got a turducken burger from a Biggerson's across from the laundromat and ate it while he waited for the clothes to finish up. It was another 45 minutes before the dry cycle ended and he packed up and headed back. When he entered the motel Sam was in bed and his father was throwing a jacket on, looking ready to go out.

"Going somewhere, dad?"

John adjusted his collar before addressing his son. "Need to see a guy on intel about an hour drive out. I'll be back before midnight."

"Ok."

John stopped short at the door, turning around to look at Dean before saying, "And Dean...?"

"I know, take care of Sammy."

John smiled warmly at his oldest. Dean had put a 100% in since the Shtriga incident years ago. He's never said it, but he's proud of how Dean manages Sam and their life now, it's at the core of his genetics. "Fine. See you soon."

"Take care, dad." Dean watched his father as he stepped over the salt lines and shut the door behind him. He listened to the chug of the impala roaring to life, then stood there for a full minute after the car pulled away. He double checked to make sure the door was locked with the lock before padding to the bedroom where Sam sat on his bed, reading some novel or another.

Dean threw himself on Sam's bed, touching his brother in ways he knew his father would gut him for if he knew; fingers sliding knowingly up one of Sam's thigh. He never comes on too strong though, in case Sammy wasn't in the mood. "Hey, guess what I've been thinking about all evening?"

Sam's grin was playful as he lowered the book and eyed his brother, loving the feel of that hand on him. "Yeah, what?"

Dean licked his lips before he spoke and Sam's eyes surreptitiously followed the movement. Dean had really fuckable lips.

"About making sure you remember your last promise," Dean answered, a sort of coyness tacked to his approached while the fire of desire burned in his eyes.

Sam adjusted himself on the bed so he and his brother were joined at the hips, hard on rubbing against hard on. "What promise?" he asked bashfully.

Dean shoved him on his back before covering his lips with his, the taste of skittles and coffee and _Dean_ bursting on his tongue. Then Dean pulled back, sucked in air and then shoved his shirt up to suck a nipple into his mouth. While his brother kissed down his stomach his muffled 'You're promise to ride me' was breathed against his skin and Sam moaned. "Yeah, Dean, I'll ride you; ride you good."

...

"It's fucking crappy," Sam griped from the back seat of the impala, a scowl on his young face.

"Watch your tone, boy." John's eyes through the rear view were firm and Sam sighed before looking out at the passing scenery. Dean could shove his Turducken burger up his ass. He didn't want anything from any Biggerson's anyways.

"What? You always liked this sandwich, Sam," Dean said irritably from the shotgun seat, still holding out the sandwich for Sam to take. Dean could be such a jerk sometimes.

Sam didn't look at his brother before mumbling out, "I told you I didn't want it."

Dean sighed explosively. "Well you goddamn need to eat something because I swear you're suddenly tiptoeing around food like it did you something."

"Eat, Sam," John ordered, marine voice command firm.

"I hate you both." It was said with such inflection Sam grinned evilly when both men tensed before taking the sandwich and smirking. Lately, he's been feeling the need to give his family a time-out amplified. As much as he felt like shit for thinking it, he wanted to go off on his own, spend some time away by himself and just_ breath_.

Everything else except the sex was getting very old, very fast.

One bite of the sandwich and Sam felt like he wanted to throw it back up. "M' not hungry, dad."

John sighed. "You need to keep your strength up, Sam. Now if what your brother says is true, you're not leaving this car until you finish it."

Sam eyed Dean, who didn't look the least bit smug like he expected, but instead had worry lines on his forehead. He looked back down at the sandwich like it was a tentacle monster. "Fine."

...

Three weeks later, the three of them were holed up in a crappy motel in Saint Cloud, Minnesota. Sam had spent the last few weeks feeling all sorts of drained and tired and overall craptastic. And even though he was relegated to the back seat of the impala whenever he was allowed on a hunt, it still left him feeling bone tired weary and just out of it.

Sometimes he was so horny he jumped either his dad's or his brother's bones the first chance he got and another time the idea of sex was so repulsive it was like the worst idea in the world. Sam wasn't certain, but something weird was going on with his body, he could feel it. His shoulder ached from the claw marks left from a wendigo three days ago, but he was glad it didn't require medical expertise. His dad told him to stay in the car and he didn't listen. His dad fixed him up good and as soon as Dean had turned his back he was stuffed full of dad; all the fear and the insecurities seeping through his father's dick to be expelled by the scream of ecstasy on his lips.

When Sam came his stomach twisted so tightly he felt like they were rupturing and like his lungs were in a vice. He figured it was time to go a little easier on himself where the fucking was concerned. He was sure if his dad or brother knew they wouldn't knowingly go at him one after the other like was the case most of the time. Maybe his greediness was finally catching up to him.

...

"Holy fuking shit."

The words were so soft, whispered like a prayer on the wind with a heavy dose of shock and confusion.

"Is that a...?" Sam asked himself, staring intensely at his swollen stomach through the bathroom mirror, then down at the pregnancy result in his hand.

Positive.

Three days ago Sam threw up something fierce. He had on a thin, white t-shirt and Dean said he looked fat. It was meant to be a joke but Sam's nightmares crept up on him then in broad daylight. Nightmare involving Mary-Lee and what had happened nearly two months ago...

...quae data est mihi secundum operationem, ut dicitur in potentia Min ritum Dei Filius, Deus subjugare vitae fertilitatem ...

Now, Sam knew enough about the latin language to have a basic idea of what the woman was chanting. It was a fertility prayer to a pagan god. If his translations were correct, it was very close to...

by the power bestowed upon me, I call upon the power of Min, divine god of fertility to subjugate this child with the rite of life bearing...

Sam flushed the test down the toilet while his heart pounded against his rib cage and his knees threatened to buckle under him. He'd put the entire incident out of his mind, until it slammed into him like a freight train at Dean's idle comment.

Men can't get pregnant. No way!

"Shit, Sam, pull yourself together." The fourteen year old chided himself. The test was wrong, had to be.

It would explain the nausea, loss of appetite and mood swings though, Sam thought to himself. No it wouldn't, men can't get pregnant.

Sam would believe anything for it to not be true. His skin felt clammy, his hazel eyes reflecting back at him were haunted but he firmed his resolve. It wasn't true.

"Sammy?" Just then Dean pounded on the bathroom door, startling Sam from his wayward thoughts. "Dude, need to piss here."

Sam threw the door open and stared at Dean. "Sorry."

Dean eyed his younger brother suspiciously. He looked spooked. "You ok?"

"Y-yeah," Sam stuttered, trying hard to compose himself. "I just..." he held his middle. "...Feeling a bit queasy."

"Ok. You know where the med kit is, or call me, whichever is fine."

Sam smiled tightly at his brother. "Sure."

Dean closed the bathroom door and Sam wanted to hurry to his the confines of his room. But luck wasn't with him right now.

"Sam?"

Sam paused, turned around and looked at his father standing in the kitchen doorway. "Yes, Sir?"

"I asked for a translation from yesterday, where is it?"

Shit. Sam totally forgot about that. His shoulders hunched faintly but he held his father's gaze. "Sorry Sir, I've been feeling sick for the past few days."

The inquisitive set of John's eyes morphed into concern as he approached his youngest, taking him by the arm and leading him to the couch. "You still sick? How bad is it?"

Sam fought down the urge to pull his arm back, to not have his father's touch on him. Or Dean's for that matter, who emerged from the bathroom suddenly.

"Dad, Sammy?"

Sam cringed away from the scrutiny. He was pregnant...for who, he wasn't sure. Dad or Dean. Or both? Was it even possible?

"Dean, get the med-kit," John instructed and Dean moved towards the bedroom where their duffels were.

Sam squirmed, even while his dad checked his temperature with the back of his hand on his forehead. "I just need to rest, dad. Please."

Sam moved away.

"Sam..." John's voice was weary, worn thin like it's been as of late. Even more than usual.

"Sammy, if you're sick..."

Dean's voice filtered into the room and it was all white noise in Sam's head. "Look, I just need time alone, by myself, ok? Leave me alone!" His stomach rolled. Was it the baby or acid? He didn't know.

John and Dean watched Sam as he locked himself in his room, the audible click of the latch forcing Dean to eye his father tiredly. "Guess I'll be holding the couch tonight."

John didn't say anything.

...

It's a week later since Sam found out his secret. He's become reclusive and even more moody than usual and his father and brother didn't know how to deal with him. Three days ago they'd drove south to Bismarck, North Dakota and Sam was like a walking landmine, exploding at any and everything.

"You'll be going back to school in two months, Sam. Might as well hunker down and see what comes up," John pitched irritably, not wanting to argue it out with his youngest but not knowing how to back down.

Sam just didn't know how to control himself anymore or what to do. The weight of his secret sat on his chest like a mammoth and everything just felt so far out of left field he had no idea what to do. But he was angry. Angry at his father and Dean and Mary-Lee and the whole damn world. Why him?

Sam eyed his father coldly. "Now you give a damn about where and IF I go to school?"

John's eyes blazed and he stood, ready to take Sam on when Dean's outburst stopped him in his tracks.

"Goddamnit you two, STOP!"

Both pairs of heated gaze flicked to Dean, who regarded them hotly. "Sam, you've always been a little shit but don't ya think this is going overboard?"

"Dean..." John admonished lightly. Despite how much he argued with his sons (Sam), they weren't allowed to behave that way with each other. Not in front of him, anyways.

"And you dad...we all know more than likely we won't be here a month. Why bring up school now?"

John scrubbed a hand over his face and turned his back to his sons. He could always turn to Sam for sex whenever he was feeling under the weather. Now, it's been weeks and whatever crawled up Sam's ass was still stuck there. Still... "Go to bed you two."

When Dean shuffled to the bedroom behind Sam, he sighed as his brother plunked down in his bed, turned his back to him and pulled the sheet up over his head. He sat on his own single bed and eyed the great lump of Sammy, aching to find out what was happening with his brother; what was running through his head, what's with the sudden mood swings.

"Sam?"

"Fuck off, Dean."

"Fine."

...

"Hey, Sammy, Happy birthday."

Their father was gone on a hunt; no phone call, no note, nothing and Sam tamped down on the hurt like gauze over wound. What if his father never came back from this hunt and the baby was his?

He gave Dean the cold shoulder.

...

"He's old enough to go on a damn hunt, Dean, stop picking up for him," John argued sagely.

"Dad, he doesn't want to. Look at him?" Dean pleaded, pointing at his brother who sat docile on the couch with his knees drawn up and his head buried in his lap.

John sneered. "He's old enough to talk back and bitch; he's old enough to hunt."

Dean sighed. "Dad, just give him a little more time. He's not arguing and trust me, that's saying something."

Sam could feel both sets of eyes on him, but he had no idea how to react, except to know he was afraid.

"No." John's voice was firm, brooking no argument and Sam felt the panic welling up inside him like a rising tide. He was two months pregnant and he didn't want to risk going on a hunt at all. What if he got hurt and lost his...their child? He squeezed his biceps tight and bit his bottom lip before looking up at his dad, pleading in his eyes.

"Dad, I...I can't."

"Bullshit, Sam! Dean was much younger than you when he started," John retaliated, standing there with hands on his hips, glaring down at his youngest. It was weird that Sam was sitting and looking up at him, like some twisted form of submission. His youngest liked to get up in his face when they argued, especially since he's been shooting up like a weed lately and they can stand eye to eye against each other.

"Dad..." It was Dean, trying to mediate as usual.

"You don't get it, dad..." Sam pleaded.

"Get what?" John hissed. He's been putting up with Sam's shit for weeks and he's tired of it.

"I can't hunt dad, I just _can't_." Sam whispered, begging with his eyes and saying nothing further.

"Why, Sam?" It was Dean, eyes and voice calculating, like he knew Sam was holding out, just wasn't sure of what.

"I just _can't_!" Sam shouted, bordering hysterical now and he stood, making to walk out the door but his father grabbed his arm and squeezed tight and he fought to get away.

"What the fuck is your problem, Sam?!" John was at the end of his rope and this shit was getting to be too much.

"Dad!" It was Dean, panicking himself and John knew he should calm down, rationalize the situation and be the voice of reason, but Sam was like an anomaly in his perfectly trained genetics that always managed to just throw protocol out the damn window whenever it came to John Winchester. First with the fucking and now with the attitude.

"No, dad! I might lose it, I might lose it! I can't hunt, I might lose it!" Sam blabbered hysterically and in the midst of the white noise going through his head and flailing arms his father just hugged him tight. Wrapped both firm arms around him and pulled his head down to his chest, cradling him like he did when he was young and hurt and in need of his father and he just accept the embraced, sagged against his dad and sobbed openly.

"You won't lose it, Sam, I promise." John kissed that mop of brown hair once. "Whatever 'it' is, I won't let you lose it, I swear."

Sam's arms tightened around his father, and that smell; leather and gun oil and _dad_. "I will if I hunt dad. I can't afford to lose this part of you or Dean, of us."

Dean's racing heart had slowly started to calm when Sam gave up the fight, but now that he heard the words his brother were speaking he needed to know exactly what Sam was talking about. A wordless glance at his father revealed the same type of expression on his face; a need for clarification, to make sense. Dean walked over and placed his hands on his brother's shoulders for support, letting him know that he was there for him too. "What part of us, Sam? We'll always be here for you, you know that."

"The baby, I don't want to lose the baby on a hunt," Sam sniffled, wiping at his eyes.

Both men froze stiff at Sam's words, neither able to comprehend what Sam was talking about.

"Baby?" John asked and Sam nodded, pulling back.

"You got somebody pregnant?" Dean blurted and Sam sniffed, shaking his head.

"No, Dean...dad, I didn't get anybody pregnant," Sam answered.

"Then what...?" John asked, speculation coloring his voice.

Sam walked over to the old couch and gripped the back, hanging his head before willing the tears away and steeling his resolve. It was too late now, there was no turning back.

"Me. I...I'm pregnant."

Dean was the one that snorted a laugh and Sam's eyes snapped over to him, expecting the disbeleif, even if it hurt.

"What the hell, Sam? Men can't get pregnant..."

"Except..." John imposed. He was deep in thought before he gazed at his son, really took him in. "The sudden oversized clothes, the mood swings, the sickness. All since Washington DC..."

The color drained from Dean's face as he suddenly _looked_ at his brother, as if seeing him for the first time.

Sam hugged his middle and nodded in confirmation.

It was a lot to take in, for all of them.

"How...what did she do?" Dean asked, puzzled and awed at the same time, like he might like the idea and Sam dared to hope.

"When she had me on the floor, she chanted a spell and...something happened," Sam answered, shrugging nervously.

John moved to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of Johnny Walker and two shot glasses. "Sorry, Sam," he muttered as he waved Dean over.

Sam nodded in understanding.

"So, I'm a be a dad..." Dean tested the words on his lips and it was like all the air was sucked from the motel room like a vacuum for the second time in how many minutes, every pair of eyes comically wide as they took in each other.

"What?" John asked, lowering his glass, which was halfway to his lips.

Sam wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. How the hell would he explain this part?

"Sam?" John's voice was low, dangerous and Sam slinked even further into the couch like a child, pulling his feet up as if it would shield him from his family's expectant stares.

"Sam, what the hell?" Dean's voice was deep and dark.

"I...I don't know which one of you is the father..." Sam trailed off in a squeak. He watched his father and brother both gaze at each other, silent for their harsh breathing in the room. So many emotions passing between them, so many unspoken words.

"You've been...with both of us?" Dean sounded so hurt it made Sam uncurl immediately and stand, trying to reach out to his brother, who recoiled at his attempt to touch.

"Dean, I'm..."

"No, Sam, just...don't." Dean's voice would be flat to anybody else, but Sam knew his brother's tells and Dean was deeply wounded. "I need some air."

Dean didn't look his father in the eyes as he grabbed his jacket and rushed through the door, out into the street and away from them.

Sam flinched at the slamming of the door. He closed his eyes, not looking over at his father, waiting for the recrimination he knew was to come. He flinched again as the sound of the chair his father was on scraping back could be heard, then silent tears slipped out of his eyes when the sound of heavy footfalls leading away from him reached his ears. He collapsed back into the couch bonelessly, hugged a cushion and cried until every part of his body hurt enough for him to pass out.

...

Sam had no idea when he'd cried himself to sleep, but opening bleary eyes and looking through the closed living room window revealed it was more than likely very late in the night, or at least very early morning, judging by the quiet of the neighborhood. He would have called for his brother or his father, but wasn't sure they wanted to hear from him after they left him behind, so he went and checked the bedrooms, the kitchen, the front porch.

He was alone.

Sighing, Sam scrubbed the crusts and dried tears from his eyes before heading to the bathroom to wash up. His stomach rumbled and rolled but he ignored it. Food was like the enemy at the moment, worry and anxiety his only companions. His head pounded and his body felt drained, but he knew what he had to do, he had to be gone before Dean or his dad got back. Their walking out spoke volumes of what they expected from Sam.

"Sorry baby, guess we aren't welcomed here anymore, " Sam whispered to himself, as if talking to the fetus inside him while a hand was splayed across his bulge lightly. Even while he packed his duffel he couldn't stop the tears from flowing freely down his cheeks, nor his heart from beating like a caged bird inside his chest.

It was the most treacherous act in Sam's young life, having the people most important to him walk away from him. Getting dressed in more appropriate clothing, he grabbed his bag and walked out to the living room, taking a deep breath and one last look at the motel room, their current rest stop. His real home was an overbearing loud machine on four wheels that chugged gas hard. He would miss it dearly too.

Sam's left hand was on the front door knob while the right held his bag and when he twisted it and pulled the door open, he gasped in surprised at the sight that greeted him. "Dad, Dean?"

Both men stood in front of Sam, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy -Winchester style-.

Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously when he spotted what Sam held in his right hand. "Sammy, what the hell is that?"

Sam flinched at the tone. His self assurance was leaving him rapidly.

John looked at the helpless look between both his boys and sighed. "Sam, go unpack. Dean, get inside before we freeze out here."

Everybody moved mechanically and John pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He realized how Sam might have taken their reaction to his news. As soon as he herded them both to the couch, he began speaking.

"Sam, what we did earlier...it wasn't towards you..."

"You guys want nothing to do with me and my baby because I lied...and I'm a freak. I get it, dad," Sam cut in, voice in monotone, burying his emotions. The sooner they got this over with the sooner he could leave.

"Where the fuck is all this bullshit coming from?" Dean scoffed, eyeing Sam like the idiot he thought he was. "Nothing to do with you? Freak? How can you think that, Sammy?!"

"Dean," John said sternly at his oldest's outburst. "We both walked out on him earlier, think about it." John turned back to hurt hazel eyes and sighed. "And for the record, Sam, you're nothing near a freak."

And Dean did. His eyes and voice softened. "Sammy..."

John and Dean had ended up at the same bar, and they had talked. They tackled the elephant in the room until John had convinced Dean he wasn't imposing, nor that he was hated. Dean's self esteem issues were a sight to behold sometimes.

It was still a lot to take in and they'd drank, broaching the subject of the baby, realizing that the idea was a frighteningly pleasant one, for both of them, considering their familial track record. None of them realized where time went, until John noticed they were the last two patrons left in the bar. Now here they were, trying to hold on to their Sammy; to stop him from leaving them.

"Sam, we're sorry for what we did earlier. It wasn't any of our intention to make you feel any less," John started.

"Yeah, Sammy..." Dean tacked on, licking his lips nervously as he moved closer to his brother. "You're having a baby for one...?" Dean chanced a glance at his father. "...or both of us and to be honest, it sounds iawesome/i!"

Sam cringed. He couldn't buy that. "I'm a liar, you both hate me. Why are you trying to hide it?"

Sam just didn't get it. He deserved so much worse.

"Sammy, you might not have told us about each other, but none of us are innocent here. You're fifteen years old and pregnant by one of us, and if you should be blamed for lying, then our crime is far, far worse. If you think we should hate you, then you have to hate us too for what we did to you," John finished, moving closer to Sam, sitting on his other side, opposite Dean.

"What? I don't..." Sam started confused. Hating his family? No way!

Dean nodded. "You're important to us, Sammy. And so is our baby." Because it's all of theirs, no matter who actually got Sam pregnant.

Sam sucked in an audible breath when Dean rested a hand to his stomach. Tears gathered and fell from his eyes when his father's hand covered Dean's and they both hugged him, breathing into his neck and encompassing him in their warmth. It was like a balm to his already fragile soul. "D...dad? Dean? Are you sure?"

"Positive," John smiled.

Sam broke down at the realisation; he truly wasn't alone.

...

It might have been five minutes, or it might have been five hours, Sam wasn't really sure. But they sat there on that couch, wrapped up in each other, just being there and letting their presence speak for itself. Sam couldn't have felt any better even if he'd won the lottery. Both hands were held by each men on both sides while their free hands touched him as much as possible. If it wasn't his stomach it was his arms or legs. His cheeks. His inner thighs. A kiss on the lips or a peck on his forehead.

The touches were innocent enough, but Sam could never be accused of being totally innocent and somewhere along the way sexual desire thrummed through them all until the motel living room became fully charged with sexual energy. Dean was the one to kiss him hot and heavy at first, then his father grasped his chin and he was being devoured by his father's hot lips. It was like a dream come true for Sam, both of them at once; two halves of the same love. His mind was stuck on an endless repeat of iyes, god yes/i and iso good, so good/i. He could barely contain the sexual excitement charging through his body.

Sam was busy with the hot taste of his father when Dean, with hands roaming softly all over his upper body and inner thigh, spoke.

"Hey, dad, Sammy loves getting fingered while I go down on him. I'll show you."

Sam pulls back, sucks in a huge breath and watches his brother de-clothes him, fingers ghosting over his skin in ways that speeds up his heartbeat even more. Then Dean goes down on him, sucking his pulsing cock into his hot mouth and Sam holds on to his father tight. It's a huge turn on, the fact that Dean looks to him with those sultry eyes as much as he does his father, and that he can feel his father's gaze steadily fixated on them both, his breathing heavy. He arched his back and moaned as Dean delivered on his promise of showing their dad exactly how much he loves this.

"Give it to him good, Dean." John's breath is hot in Sam's ear and Sam melts even further when his father sucks bruises into his neck while one hand covers the back of Dean's head, guiding him on his dick.

"Dad, Dean...iJesus/i," Sam moaned and he's a breath away from blowing his load.

Dean pulled back and smirks. "Nuh-uh, Sammy. Can't come unless me 'n dad are equally reintroduced to the wonder that is your asshole. Right dad?"

John's not used to the brunt of Dean's sexual chat-speak, but it's not a turn off and he can get used to it. "True, son."

Sam whimpers piteously with need. He doesn't know when his father's pants and boxers had pooled at his ankles, but he was small enough for his dad to hook his hands under his arms and lift him right up to straddle his lap.

"Come here, Sammy." John's eyes were a smoldering heat even if his face was 90% the stoic mask it usually was. "You're going to show your brother just how much you love screaming when I fuck you, won't you, Sammy?"

"Yeah, dad, yeah," Sam breaths out reverently, rubbing his stiff dick against his father's while Dean licks along his collarbone, up his neck and the side of his face. He kisses his father sultrily and the combination of his huge hands firm on his hips and Dean tracing his spine with his tongue sends him into a downward spiral of sexual madness.

John pulled back and took in the fever flushed skin of his cute little, slutty Sammy. "Hands on my chest." When Sam did as instructed, he lifted his hips a little so his ass was jutting out. "Dean, prep him."

"Yes, Sir." Dean's answer was way too giddy and when he latched on to that ass with his stiff tongue in that tight hole Sam yelped, jerking into their father and almost toppling sideways from his eagerness.

"Dad...Dean's tongue," Sam moaned, eyes closing and opening, head falling against his father's broad shoulder.

John's cock kept leaking copious amounts of precum against his stomach. He didn't know a three some with his sons would blow his mind like this. "Make sure you work him open, get him nice and wet, Dean."

Dean planted his feet firmly in the carpet, adjusted his stance and shoved his tongue as far up Sam's ass as it would go.

John started jerking Sam off and his son keened and wailed and moaned and the sounds shot straight to his own dick like bolts of lightning.

"Dean, oh god. Dad!"

"Dean's tongue is the least, Sam," John breathed against those lips while he sucked on Sam's bottom lip, breathing in the hot breath of his panting. "You know what to do, Dean."

Dean pulled back and held his father's cock with one hand while the other guided Sam's ass forward for penetration.

Sam sucked in a breath, could feel the blunt head of his father's huge cock brushing up against his ass as Dean ran the show. "Mmmm, give it to me, dad."

Dean smirked. "Oh yeah, Sammy. Your slutty ass is getting fucked good."

Dean watched his father's huge cock penetrate that little asshole. It was a sight to behold really, because Sam was so small and their dad was so big. But none of the rough and tumble stuff, because they had another to think of now and Dean knew, just like himself, there's no way their dad would do anything to jeopardize their newest little family member. He's been straining until it hurt against his jeans, and he stepped back and palmed his dick through the denim, drinking in the sight of his little brother riding his father's cock.

After a moment it almost gets too much, and Dean kneels between his father's legs, watching Sammy's ass go up and down, down and up and while he jerks off with one hand, he fondles his father's balls with the other.

"Liking the view, son?" John's voice is breathless.

Dean's eyes cross at the repetitive motion before he answered. "Yeah, dad. Sammy's a good little slut, right baby brother? You want me and dad up in ya so you can feel both of us, right, Sammy?"

"Y-yeah, Dean...yeah," Sam stuttered, too far gone to be any more coherent.

"Dad?" Dean stands and looks at his father, asking permission for what he wanted to do. What if it hurt Sam, what if caused him to tear or rupture? What if they lost the baby because of his actions?

"It's ok, son, get the lube," John answered after looking into his son's indecisive face. Dean wanted both of them to fuck Sam at once, but wasn't sure what it would cause. If they were careful and go slow, Sam would be sore, but fine. Dean kissed the dimple above Sam's ass before scurrying off like an awkward teenager, which was normally Sam's thing, to get the lube in the bedroom. John then focused on his youngest, looking into his lust blown hazel eyes before holding him by the hips and turning him around so they were back to chest. "Now listen, Sammy. It feels good, doesn't it?"

John emphasizes 'it' by thrusting into Sam twice.

"Holy fuck, dad, it's amazing!" Sam moaned.

"I know." John kissed along his son's collarbone. "Now, you're brother's going to do something, and if it hurts in any way, shape or form, I want you to tell us. No toughing it out, you're pregnant and we don't want to hurt you."

Sam was squirming on John's dick, but he nodded at the serious tone his father used. "'K, dad." Now he was a bit curious as to what exactly they had in mind. When Dean came back, stiff, angry red dick bobbing through open fly, Sam licked his lips.

"Dude, if we're hurting you in any way, you gotta say so, ok, Sammy?"

Sam nodded once, sweaty bangs covering his forehead. He watched as his father held his calfs and pulled his leg right back. Then Dean stepped out of his clothes, lubed up his length and poured copious amounts on Sam's ass and his father's cock.

Sam sucked in a breath when Dean pressed his dick flushed against his father's before trying to work the head into his body. Every few seconds is interspersed with 'you ok, Sammy?' or 'does it hurt?'.

No, no and no. Never, you won't hurt me, Dean. It feels so fucking good.

"Language, son," John comments, groaning at the feel of Dean's dick rubbing hard against his, both of them cocooned in the tight, warmth that is Sam.

Sam's face his completely red, his entire body fever flushed. He pants out, "But Dean says it all the time."

"I'm older," Dean moans, even as he winced at the tightness. "Bloody fucking shit!" he shouts when he's all the way inside.

Sam relaxed against his father, closed his eyes and just took from both men that he loved.

Dean started out slow, thrusting lightly against his dad's dick, even while his dad touched them both, reassuring and guiding them. Sam's making all these delicious keens and wails; panting and moaning, screaming and begging. It's tight enough for him to feel the pressure building in his balls already and the look on his dad's face makes him know he's close too. "Jesus Christ," Dean cried out as he came, pulsing hot and releasing hot, sticky come into his brother's tight passage. "Fucking A, Sammy, so damn good."

"Good work boys," John praised. Then he closed his eyes and came himself, filling Sam up even more.

"Oh God..." Sam moaned as Dean swallowed down his dick, sucked like candy and caused him to squirt down his throat, all while his father pinched and pulled his nipples. Big brother drank every drop before sharing his taste in a sweet, hard kiss.

Dean collapsed in the couch beside them, breathing hard and trying to will the colored spots behind his eyes away.

"You boy's ok?" John asked while he gently eased himself out of Sam, to put him on his side beside his brother. John could see how gaping Sam's ass was and the sheer amount of cum leaking out of it.

"Fine, dad," they both answered unanimously.

John got his boys cleaned up, doting on Dean as much as Sam and he carried them both to bed, because he could see how exhausted they were. He covered them with the blankets, kissed their foreheads and instructed them to sleep. When he was at the door, looking in on them both reverently, Dean whispered.

"Dad, tie Sammy to the bed so he doesn't leave."

The sleepy 'jerk' from the next bed reached his ears and he chuckled.

His boys, a new baby, and life like he's never experienced it before.

Welcome to the new Winchester household.


End file.
